An Introspective Series
by YourLoyalBlogger
Summary: A closer look into the minds of our favourite characters
1. His Heart

I don't own Sherlock or the characters :C

When you were little, you showed your emotions freely. You were clever and happy, unaware of the trials your intelligence would bring you later in life. Your brother loved you, together you played games of intellect and deduction, you knew he loved to find another soul like his own.

On your first day of school you had your first heartbreak. Your teacher called you a freak, behind your back, but you heard it. Your games of deduction here were not welcome. The other students avoided you as you grew older, they thought you were strange. Again, that word, Freak. You tried so hard to make friends, those who did not think you were freakish, believed that you were arrogant. That you thought because of your intelligence, you were better than them. You were smarter. But brains was not everything to you. You were lonely, without friends. No one bothered to get to know you.

Come Secondary School you had given up trying. You placed the first bricks in your wall. You had become cynical, no longer caring what the others thought of you. You enjoyed pissing many of them off, those that teased you. Those that teased others. More and more bricks were placed in your wall. And in front of the wall, you wore your mask. Two impenetrable forces. Your mask rarely slipped, you played the jerk, you were cold, indifferent. You didnt care if they thought you a sociopath or a bastard. In fact you encouraged it. They won't bother, you thought, if they believe those, they will leave me alone. The wall finally built, you left school life behind.

Freak, the word followed you everywhere. Years went by and still no one bothered to look past the mask, even when it fell, no one bothered to look and see that wall you'd built around your heart. Until Him. The solider, the doctor, by chance he swept into your life and there was a connection, almost immediately. Mere hours was all it took for Him to rip off your mask and see the lonely boy behind. He understood you, it didnt seem to take Him long. Such chemistry, was this friendship? Was this the thing you'd been longing for, that you gave up on all those years ago?

Friend. Yes, He was your friend. He found the wall you had created as a child and opened the door to your heart. You were happy, for the first time in so long. No longer was each case simply to stave of boredom, they were your adventures. Together with Him you could do anything. Nothing could go wrong.

You found the cabbie, He saved you, some how, even though then you barely knew Him, you knew He would save you. Brothers not in blood but in bond. Soul mates. Your loyal blogger.

You had always believed your brother was your arch-enemy. A strong word, but the two of you had long traded insults, you weren't friends anymore, like you were when you were young. But you were wrong. You admit that now. He was not your arch-enemy. It was your fan. Your biggest fan, or so he claimed. It was a game at first, until people started dying, with each puzzle, your heart slipped out again and again for all to see. And then, it was simply stolen. Stolen and strapped to a bomb at the side of a pool.

Moriarty.

Your emotions were running high now. No longer did you see the point to let them hide. Your heart was here, your soulmate, He was allowed to see. You threw away the bomb, wanting nothing more than to hug Him, baby steps though. But it wasn't over, two soon had you slipped, he was back and now you had to make a choice. Kill him or shoot the bomb. And you made your decision. The bomb exploded, your doctor pushed you into the pool.

Blood.

Pain.

Water. So much water.

Screaming. Someone was screaming. You strained your ears to hear, but the water muffled everything. Someone grabbed you pulling you to the surface.

"SHERLOCK!"

You were alive. He was alive. Watson, your Watson. Your doctor, your solider, your friend.

"...John?"

And you wept. Moriarty was gone, alive but gone. You and He were alive. And together you would stop him. No matter what it took.


	2. My Soul

Another One. Not as good as my first.

She says you have trust issues. That since your return, you have found it difficult to trust anyone. She keeps telling you to blog, as if it will help. As if writing down your boring life will somehow help your post traumatic stress. Nothing ever happens to you, what is there to write about? You know you miss the battlefield, the thrill of adventure, the danger, you are a warrior at heart, but you are also a healer. But its the warrior in you that is restless.

You limp through the park, by surprise you meet someone you have not seen for some time. You don't realise the meaning of this chance meeting. You don't realise what it will bring, _who _it will bring.

The flat is, to put it lightly, a complete and utter mess. And theres a skull, a bloody skull on the mantle. This tall, dark individual has captured your attention. He is like no one you had ever met. And then He's off, leaving you alone in the flat that would one day be your home. But then He comes back. Danger, oh god yes, point the way and you will follow.

Another stunning display of intellect. He seems surprised. Has no one ever complimented Him before? You can't help but be amazed and you tell Him so. He seems pleased though He hides it well. You suspect He always his hiding His emotions.

He claims He's a sociopath, but you know its not true. Oh there's other things He could be, but He is none of those. You've only known Him for a day, but you see. He wears a mask, but He let it slip around you. The others call Him a freak, but you see Him laugh, you see His eyes twinkle. The smiles of glee at a crack in the case, the raw passion in His face. Later you would see His sadness, the lonely little boy inside. He'd built a wall around His heart. You see through Him, into Him. And He sees into you.

The adventure. Oh how you had missed that thrill of chasing danger. He's brought it back. You have Him to thank, He gets off on solving crimes and mysteries, oh yes. But you get off on danger. Thats your drug. You don't care, you finally feel alive again. He's brought you back to life.

You remember the cab driver. That sick feeling in your stomach when you realised what had happened. You'd only just met Him, why were you so worried, was it the thought that you may miss out on something incredible if you lost Him? You shot the cabbie, you saved Him& you saved your friend. And then you laughed, joked and teased Him and His face told you everything. It told you "You understand me, how can you understand me, no one does." And that breaks you.

A blind banker, chinese acrobats, yellow paint and hoarse voices. You find out later, your curly-haired detective had been strangled twice in that case. Twice! The doctor in you swears and throws things, the warrior in you marvels at the other man's ability to simply solider on. Thin He may be, he was nothing if not strong- willed. Or perhaps stubborn was a better word.

An explosion. A terrifying game. And you are apart of it. You felt strangely calm at first. Was it the thought that you knew He would come that held you together? Only months had passed, were you at that point already. You trusted Him with your life, your heart. And as such, you would never forget the look on His face when He saw you. He though you were His Fan.

Moriarty.

Evil wore Westwood. You were prepared to die, if you could take him with you and spare your detective. But that red dot on His forehead made you release your hold on the consulting criminal. Your arch-enemy. People don't have arch-enemies, you told Him that once, you were wrong. He was right, but don't tell Him that.

And then the bomb was ripped off you. Your detective begged to know that you were safe. Oh He cares, He loves, bloody idiot why do you hide your emotions behind that mask of yours? You sagged against that pillar, you don't notice just how out of character, how agitated, you thin, bold hero is.

Evil comes back. And then there was another explosion. The warrior in you takes over and you push your hero into the pool, your arms wrapped around you.

Water.

Blood. Some of it is yours. As you kick to the surface and climb out of the pool you realise most of it is not. Oh god. Where was He? You dove back into the water to see Him struggling, the water stained red around Him like some morbid cloak. You pull Him to the surface, you just about have a heart attack when He doesn't respond.

"SHERLOCK!"

Oh god, please answer. Please please. You just want to hear Him speak. He's always speaking, why isn't He speaking. Why won't he answer? Tears fall down your cheeks. Please, just one word. Just one.

"...John?"

It's so quiet, you arms tighten around Him. Sherlock, your Sherlock, He was ok, bleeding, but the doctor inside told you He would survive this. Together you lay there waiting, the British Government would come and find them, and together they will tear down Moriarty's world, they will "fix" Jim. No matter what it took.


	3. Our Gifts

Don't own Sherlock and the characters :c Wish I did

You remember the day he was born. You were seven. And you were very excited. You'd spent the entire pregnancy trying to figure out if you were going to have a sister or a brother. You believed it to be the latter, and of course, you were right. Your parents had spent years trying to conceive another child. When Mummy finally fell pregnant you hid your glee well. It wouldn't be proper for a boy your age to jump for joy, but you did inwardly. You stayed at home, one of the maids was watching you when you got the call. A perfect baby boy.

You remember the day you saw him for the first time. You were nervous. He was so small, with a mop of dark hair and big round eyes. Mummy smiled and beckoned you closer. She asked you if you wanted to hold the baby. Your brother. You did, but He looked so fragile, what if you dropped Him? When you did hold Him, your eyes went watery. You finally had a sibling, a brother. You wanted to teach Him everything, you wondered if He would be intelligent like you, or like the stupid boys at school who sucked up to you because it elevated their status.

He didn't speak till he was three. You worried about his mind. While your parents talked to doctors, you scoured the bookshelves, studying the brain and childhood development. He was your brother, you wanted Him to be healthy and smart, and like you. The doctors told your parents not to worry, some children were like this. You told your parents, Einstein didn't talk till he was four, they still worried. You did too.

He was a very curious toddler. Roaming around the house with worried maids or nannies in toe. Always getting into things, exploring things. He loved to follow you, always observing what you were doing, His cheeky little smile when He threw a soft toy at you made you laugh. You remember when He finally spoke.

It was at a dinner party. Friends and business partners of your parents. One of the ladies was remarking to Mummy about her own son, certain he was going to be something special. Ridiculous, you'd met her boy, he was of average intelligence, just a charming toddler. The lady patted Mummy's arm, saying how sad it was to have a "special" child, she was clearly insinuating that your precious brother was retarded.

Mummy looked sad, Father angry. Your brother had a worried look on His face, like He blamed himself for Mummy crying. He turned and looked at your for guidance. You told Him it wasn't His fault, Mummy just worried because He never spoke. His clear blue eyes widened. You worried to, you told Him so and He looked like He might cry.

"Mycwoff, Im sorry, I just like to listen"

He spoke. He spoke! Your parents had heard it too, the room had gone silent.

"You learn stuff when you don't talk".

He rubbed His little hand across his eyes, He was crying. You were crying, you just grabbed and hugged Him. Your brother was ok. He was three and was speaking so clearly! Mummy and Father hugged Him as well. The dinner party largely forgotten at that stage. It was a precious memory, you brother's first words were your name. As he grew older he spoke more often. He was bright, happy little boy. Still very curious, still getting Himself into trouble over a new experiment or exploring a brand new world outside.

One day you came home from school, sopping wet. There had been a thunderstorm and you had taken the brunt of it. You'd looked everywhere for your umbrella, only to learn when you got home, thoroughly soaked, that your innocent little brother had used it in one of His many experiments. Normally you wouldn't have minded, you conducted your own experiments, your own games, you called it deduction.

(You only just began to teach your brother that, He promised to be as skilled as yourself)

But this was your umbrella, not only was it now ruined, but you were sick. You developed a terrible cold that left you bedridden. Your precious five year old sibling had shyly entered the room and apologised at great length. He was very upset that He was the cause of you getting sick. A few days later you woke to a beautiful umbrella at the end of your bed. It was like your old one, this was a proper umbrella, and adults umbrella, and it was beautifully made. Your darling sibling at spent all his allowance on this gift. You were touched and it never left your side.

You still have it now, it truly never leaves your side, you keep it in perfect condition.

When He was eight, you had a chance to repay Him with a special gift of your own. Mummy and Father were on a business trip. Your brother was a lot quieter now, except for when you played deduction, like correctly guessing each others christmas presents, or trying to figure out why the kitchen maid's perfume got stronger every day. He was getting bullied at school, by the students and the teachers. He'd skipped a few grades, like you yourself had done, this had only made things worse. One this particular day, you'd been studying hard, purposely ignoring your brothers plea's to spent time with Him. He adored you, looked up to you, but today you were to busy. So He had gone outside and ended up falling out of tree. And breaking his leg. You were grounded for three months, you were supposed to be watching Him. You felt terrible.

You remembered how much you adored His gift and searched for something of equal value. A violin. It was old and needed repairing, but it was perfect. His eyes shone when you gave it to Him, together you repaired it, it became a game. He loved that violin and played it beautifully. You still felt guilty, it was your fault. You should have been watching Him, He exhausted the other people in the house. Father told you something you never forgot after he'd come home and berated you. He was your little brother, it was your duty to protect him and keep him safe. And you have ever since. Even after the too of you fell apart as friends. Even when your heart broke, watching the happy child become cold and distant, hiding behind a mask of indifference. You never stopped watching out for Him.

Now here you were, watching over Him again. Trying to figure out who this doctor fellow was. It was clear to you this man was not a bad man. You simply worried He would take things at face value with your brother, as everyone did, and not see the person behind the mask. You need't have worried, you watched proudly as your brother opened up to this man. He didn't hide with the doctor, He laughed with him, teased him, it was so clear that they were becoming close friends. You felt a pang of jealously but your brother needed this. He needed someone close to his heart, his soul needed someone to understand it. The doctor did.

And then your brother met his match. You had rushed over as soon as you heard about the explosion. You felt sick with worry until you saw He was fine. A few minor cuts, that was all. He was sitting in his chair, in the infernal mess He called a flat. Playing his violin, the violin you gave him. You were satisfied He was ok, but you never imagined the outcome of the next few days. Five pips, five victims. You grew considerably more worried for your brother. And then he slipped off your radar. Two sentences on his website was all you had to go on.

And as you now stood in front of what you hoped was the right pool, you prayed he was safe. You knew He was meeting someone, it was too dangerous for you to simply stroll in, too dangerous for Him too. And then came then explosion. You were sick with fear this time, dropping the umbrella to the ground and rushing to the entrance, only to be pulled back by The Inspector. You had to wait, he told you, but at the first chance you got you ran into the building, down the twisting corridors, searching for your brother and His doctor. Thats when you heard it.

"SHERLOCK!"

You nearly died then. That voice, unmistakably John's, so panicked and full of horror and fear. You ran full pelt until you reached their room. You could see through the window, the good doctor held your little brother's bleeding body in His arms, sobbing. Oh no, oh god no, you were too late, you had failed him. You weren't watching again and this time it had cost not a bone but His life.

"...John?"

You almost missed that quiet voice in your grief. You released a breath you didn't know you;d been holding. He was alive, He was alive, you brother Sherlock, He was going to be ok. Anger took over from grief, and you made a new promise. Too not let Moriarty get away with this. No matter what it took.

Chapter Four Coming Soon, whether or not that is the last chapter depends on reviews :c


	4. His Respect

**Their Friendship (titled not decided, open to suggestions)**

The day you first met Him was one you'd rather forget. Yes, it had been impressive, yes He had been right. But the lack of respect and arrogance in His eyes was something you could have done without. You did, however get a kick out of putting him behind bars until He'd successfully proven He wasn't the murderer. The worrying anonymous phone call had not helped matters. You wondered just what connections this tall, mysterious young man actually had.

He kept coming back,hanging around crime scenes until you let Him in. He was nearly always correct in His deductions. You were constantly impressed but you hid it well or remained sceptical until you held or saw the evidence with your own eyes. However, that lack of respect and arrogance was still there.

You remember the day it changed. It was one of the sorts of cases you dreaded and that he got off on. He still hung around crime scenes and seemed almost happy that you were hunting a serial killer. The look of glee in His eyes snapped something in you. You remember yelling at Him, your fist hitting His thin face and the look of shock in His eyes as he stumbled backwards. But something changed. The look in His eyes changed. Suddenly respect and curiosity shone in His pale orbs and He quickly toned down his attitude and asked you, actually asked you if He could help solve the case.

And thats where it started. Any time you felt out of your depth, you texted him. And He always came running. You learnt it wasn't glee and joy that someone had died. It was the thrill of the chase, the thrill of solving a mystery. It was how He got his kicks. Sure you suspected He got it other ways, but you had maintained, and you had told Him this discreetly, as long as He was clean, He could help you. So He did.

Years would pass and He had helped you so many times but no one even knew He was there. He preferred to lurk in the shadows, never wanting fame. And you worried about him. He claimed he was a sociopath or some other diagnosis but you knew better. You saw the rare emotion that would flit across his face. You suspected he'd hidden all his feelings behind an wall. It made you sad but you never pressed him for answers to such questions. He still lurked on the borders of humanity. You couldn't help but think if someone could get through to him, those walls would fall and He could slip back into the human world.

You got your wish. Though sometimes you still can't believe it. You'd texted Him after he'd continually hacked into the phone network and humiliated you in front of a press conference. You still have no idea how he did that. You were even a little impressed. So you'd invited Him to the latest crime scene. But this time He wasn't alone. You couldn't believe it and almost felt sorry for the poor sod. What was he? A colleague? Yeah right, what did He take you for? He would never invite a colleague, if He had one, over to a crime scene.

The poor young man was a doctor. He claimed He invited him because your doctors refused to work with him. You knew differently. You could tell this man had captured His attention. You didn't even miss the look He gave you as the doctor gave his diagnosis. The thought was clear. There, you see, I know what Im talking about. He's good isn't he? You hoped, oh you prayed that this person could get through to Him. But you didn't really believe your prayer would be answered.

The next time you saw the doctor, he was without his cane. He firmly believed, despite only knowing the detective for a short time that He was completely innocent. Had he become that loyal so soon? You were surprised. And then the detective disappeared. This was nothing new. He lived in a world of danger and adventure. You wasted no time in letting the doctor know your feelings. That the detective was a great man. He truly was but he wasn't a good one. You left the implication clear in your voice. Stay His friend and maybe you could help Him become a great man.

Next thing you know you are called to a crime scene to find the young detective in the back of an ambulance, quite confused as to why He was wearing an orange blanket. You were amused but relieved He was safe. You let the concern show though teasing, god forbid He ever learn you cared. And then something strange happened. Something you never thought you;d see from him.

He had began to rant about the sort of man who could have killed the cabbie but suddenly stopped. You could tell who He was looking at. It was the doctor. The army doctor. You suddenly realised who He'd meant. But the detective hurriedly stated to ignore him, that He was in shock and didn't know what He was saying. Was He actually admitting He was wrong, He was so proud of His brain. But was He actually lying because He cared for this doctor? You could scarcely believe it. Maybe there was hope for Him after all. Your heart even warmed slightly at the sound of them giggling like they'd know each other forever.

You missed the case of the blind banker. But you read about it. Another case solved by the detective. He and the doctor were quickly becoming inseparable. You'd read about relationships like these. People becoming so close that they were closer than siblings. You hoped this was the case with them. Lord knows they both needed someone.

But then came the case that changed everything. It started with a bombing at their flat. And then four hostages. Four pips. He was right, this was something different. But you still weren't prepared for the outcome. Which was why you were waiting outside a pool on a cold night. All you'd had to go on was a post on His website. It had taken you forever to find the right pool but you hadn't needed much help. The explosion had done that for you.

You were in shock. Your gaze fell upon a tall, dark haired man, dressed impeccably in a three piece suit. For some reason he clutched an umbrella in his hands, as if his life depended on holding it. He tried to rush inside but you ran and held him back. He resisted and you started to wonder just why he was so concerned. So you asked. Another shock. Your detective had a brother. And he seemed to be just as brilliant as his younger brother. He was adamant his brother was in there. That he'd deduced who would be the fifth pip. Oh no, not the doctor. If he had been attached to that bomb then nothing could bring the detectives heart back.

The brother slipped out of your arms and rushed inside. You quickly followed. You heard yelling. You both stopped in front of a damaged door. You stole a glance at him. He was sweating, his swept back hair now hung in front of his face. Then came a sound that fairly both broke and stopped your heart.

"SHERLOCK!"

It was his voice, John's voice. Such despair and horror, you never thought you'd hear the detectives name said in such a way, not by him. You pushed the door open with the help of his brother, Mycroft and crept inside. John cradled the tall man in his arms. Both were wet and covered in blood. But it was Sherlock who was covered in most of it. He appeared unmoving, like He was.. you didn't want to even think it, but you had to. Like He was dead. John was sobbing, calling Sherlock's name over and over again as if it would somehow bring him back.

You wanted to comfort him, but your concern fell upon Mycroft, who seemed almost afraid to venture beyond the doorway. Like if he did, things would become far too real. You rested a cautious hand on his shoulder. He was shaking. Trying not to cry.

"...John?"

Such a small voice, barely a whisper. You latched onto the shred of hope. You heard it again and you watched John's face break into a smile, tears falling from his eyes.

Sherlock was ok, John was ok. They'd get the man who did this, of that you were sure. And you'd be there to help, no matter what it took.


End file.
